“Come on, men. March ’em up the track. Then we’ll come back, or send someone else after the dynamite and other stuff. That’ll be handy as evidence.”
Guarded by Fulsbee and his two detectives, the prisoners marched along a few rods.
“Mr. Reade,” called Dave, pointing, “you’ll find your horse tied to that tree yonder. I reckon you’ll be glad to get in saddle again.”
Indeed, Tom was glad. He ran over, untying the animal, which uttered a whinny of recognition. In saddle, Tom joined the marching party.
“You don’t seem to think us a very hard crowd to guard,” remarked ’Gene Black curiously. “Why don’t you call off the men you posted around the thickets”
“I didn’t post any,” Fulsbee answered simply. “I sent these two men of mine running around the thicket. Then they had to come together and attend to handcuffing you fellows.”
“And were you the only man who had the drop on us?” gasped ’Gene Black.
“I was,” Dave Fulsbee responded. “If you fellows hadn’t had such bad nerves, you could have escaped. But it’s an old story. When men go bad their nerves go bad with them.”
As for Black’s followers, now that they knew the nature of the trick that had fooled them, several of them hung back.
“You fellows needn’t think you can balk now,” observed Fulsbee grimly. “You’re all of you handcuffed, and there are enough of us to handle you. I promise you that, if anyone of you tries to run away, I won’t run after him until I’ve first tried dropping him with a shot.”